


The Death and Life of Anarchaia

by Soule



Category: World of Warcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:41:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26724589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soule/pseuds/Soule
Kudos: 3





	The Death and Life of Anarchaia

She gently closed the inn door behind herself, the wagon bell jingling above her head. With a sigh, she glanced upward at the moon hanging amidst the willow and elm leaves, then set on her trek east down the path. The smell of ale and smoke dwindled away the farther she distanced herself from the building behind her. She lifted a pale palm and a small orb of flame sparked to life in its center. 

A chill fluttered through the trees of Duskwood and she shrugged her cowl closer about herself. Foliage rustled faintly just The faint sound of foliage was heard off the road and she paid it no mind; certainly just a fox or rabbit. It was only a short while before the flicker of the lights from her home's windows faded into view through from the dark haze of the wood. She stepped through the arbor at the end of the walk, then looked up to the kitchen window expectantly. 

A white cat pushed his face eagerly into the corner of the cracked open window. The wood creaked in short bursts until the gap was open wide enough for the animal to slip through. He leapt into the red azaleas below the sill then padded up to her and mowed in greeting. 

"Hello, Boo," she said quietly, as though speaking too loudly loudly would wake her neighbors some miles away. She bent at the waist, the fire puffing out as she brought the feline into her arms, then stepped up the stone steps to her front door. 

"Ana. Is that you?" Her mother's voice came from the living room a ways down the dark foyer hall. 

"Yes," Anarchaia Starling responded simply, going stepping to the open archway illuminated by the large fireplace at the far end of the room. "Were you expecting someone else?"

Aralisse looked up from her crochet work, tired bags beneath her seafoam eyes. She smiled, showing the few wrinkles she'd accumulated only in recent years. "No, but one can never be too careful."

The teenager snerked and Boo hopped from her arms to the bearskin rug. "So if it weren't me, you'd just call out to whomever it was? That doesn't sound too careful."

"Well I did say that one can never be as such." The two paused before both chuckling. "There's soup on the stove. Would you like me to reheat it for you?"

Anarchaia shook her head and turned down the hall toward the kitchen. "I can do it. Thank you, mama."

"Did Jorick walk you home?" she heard her mother called before she was able to get too far. 

Anarchaia frowned and faltered only briefly. "No," she replied, not too loudly as not to rouse her sleeping father upstairs, "we broke up. You know that, mother."

"Ah, right. Sorry, hon." 

She lit the oil soaked fabric beneath the burner, not bothering to turn on the kitchen lights. "It's okay," she mumbled, more to herself than anyone.

\--

The next night, after her shift at the inn, Anarchaia chewed idly at the edge of a thumbnail as she walked. Something caught the corner of her eye and she turned...but nothing out of the ordinary happened. So she carried on. An eerie breeze blew through, rustling everything around her and within her. An unexplainable dread seeped into her gut, actually giving her pause. She swallowed, throat dry and heart beating faintly in her ears. She hurried forward, suddenly eager to get home. 

At the arbor, she stopped. Her pink eyes widened. The sound of the leaves faded to nothingness in her ears. Her vision blurred and swirled through the tears pushing from her burning face. "Boo." She forced a shaky step forward, her shoes feeling leaden. 

There, hanging from the archway, hung her cat, opened from loin to throat, his pristine fur drenched in blood and opened from loin to throat. His innards dangled above the growing pool below. The wind died, leaving nothing but the sound of dripping. 

Theoren Starling rushed his way down the staircase, pulling his house robe over his shoulders. "What's going on? What's happened?" he demanded through an unkempt beard. 

On the floor of the foyer, Aralisse gently rubbed her disconsolate daughter's back. She looked up at her husband, a frown on her still painted lips. "Someone's killed the cat," she explained calmly. 

"Let me see," he said, but the sound of his daughter's weeping drowned out his request. He knelt and took Anarchaia by the shoulder to ease her back, away from the corpse in her lap. He pursed his lips. 

"He was hanging on the arbor," his wife continued, still consoling the girl beside her. She lifted a hand--fingers now decorated with blood as well as polish--and offered him a small, rolled piece of parchment. "This was in his mouth."

He grabbed it and unfurled it, his chocolate eyes flicking furiously as he read the bloodied text. 

_We know of the wealth you have stored away. In the wine cellar hides a safe. Leave us the combination beneath the front door mat, else you'll all meet the same fate as of the cat._

_24 hours_

He rubbed a calloused palm over his mouth and slowly stood. Fingers shaking, he crumpled the note. 

"What are we going to do?" Aralisse whispered. 

He scowled down at her. "Nothing," he growled. "No bottom-feeding bandits are going to strongarm the Starlings into giving up everything I've worked for."

"But they killed him!" Anarchaia sobbed up at him.

He turned his stern eyes on her. "He was a cat. They are easy to snatch from the hedge. A person is a different sort of prey, Ana." He looked at her a few seconds longer, his jaw working. "Now go clean yourself up and get ready for bed. You're getting blood on the rug." 

Aralisse sighed as she watched him return to the stairs. She hugged her daughter's head to her breast and kissed the thick white hair atop it. "We'll bury him when it's light out, darling. Okay?" She shushed her quietly when Anarchaia continued to quietly sob, but the girl nodded all the same. 

\--

The following night, instead of tending to her shift Anarchaia sat in the spacious study upstairs, curled up in the oversized armchair in front of the hearth. She'd tried to read, but the weight of what had happened the previous night simply refused to stop haunting her. She rocked idly, lost in her thoughts and chewing on a nail. 

"Are you all right?"

She blinked into the fire, at first not hearing her father's voice at her back. She nodded despite her response. "I miss him." 

There was a silence and she knew he was doing his best not to let her hear him sigh. "We'll get you another. He was getting old."

Her teeth creaked as they ground against each other. "Yeah. Okay. Thank you."

He lingered for only a few seconds more before disappearing down the hallway.

\--

Twenty-four hours had come and passed. Anarchaia sat amongst the pillows that crowded the solar window, her forehead on the cool glass. Her eyes scanned their darkening backyard but ultimately looked at nothing. 

She heard the washroom door open and close down the hall, followed by the heavy footfalls of her father. Through the silence of their manse cut a crash accompanied by a short cry of what could only be described as anguish; her father's voice. She was there at their bedroom door in seconds, her feet carrying her before her mind could.

The large fitting mirror lay in pieces on the floor. Theoren sat amongst them, back pinning the broken frame to the wall and his face moist and pale. Almost reluctantly, her eyes followed his horrified gaze to the bed. 

Her knees went weak; she didn't even feel the pain of them hitting the hardwood floor. A cry caught in her throat and her hands flung to her gaping mouth.

Her mother's solemn face stared blankly at the boudoir across the room. Her throat lay open in a macabre smile. Blood soaked the sheets and blanket so thoroughly that it ran down the side and was gathering in a pool beside the nightstand. Her hair and the blankets lay neat as though not having been touched, as if her neck simply opened in her sleep of its own accord and the pain had startled her awake. 

Anarchaia sank down, doubling over and clawing at the planks. She choked on her sobs, choked back her breakfast, choked on her newfound loneliness. Her mother had always been there for her when Father was not. There to pet her head and tell her everything would be fine. There to fix her sewing mistakes. There when she came home from a shift. 

But now it was just her…and Father.

Finally, a scream exploded from her and didn't stop until her throat was raw.

That night, they buried Aralisse Starling beneath her beloved magnolia tree amongst the flowers in the backyard garden.

And that night, they left the safe combination beneath the door mat.

\--

Anarchaia lay awake, gazing at the underside of the canopy above her four poster bed. She couldn’t sleep. She cCouldn’t eat. What reason was there? She’d just lost everything she’d had left cared most about in the span of a few couple days. Her ex-lover and only friend had disappeared shortly after their separation. Her cat was gutted. Her mother, slaughtered while she slept. What had she now? A roof over her head, a mundane job as a tavern waitress, and a father who despised her existence.

Her face contorted, twisting in angst and grief. She pushed a pillow into it to stifle her weeping. It wasn’t fair. What had she done in all her years to deserve such torment? Such punishment? She hiccupped into the fabric hiding her sorrow., tThen, with a surge of anger, she cried out and hurled it across the room. She lay there a while longer, staring at the item on the floor and silently crying.

An unknown amount of time passed before she heard her parents’ bedroom door open down the hallway. She lifted her head when her father—as broken and disheveled as she—passed her ajar door.

“Where are you going?” she asked, though her throat was dry and carried only so far.

“To check. You stay here.”

She pursed her lips, her mind already set to obeying his words. After a short while, however, she found herself standing and creeping down the stairs after him. What if something happeneds? What if she lost him as well? They may not have gotten along, but he was still her father. Her caretaker. Her blood. She snuck along, following until they reached the backmost part of the basement where the wine cellar resided, walled off from the rest of the floor. The door sat slightly open with the light from the single lantern inside pouring from it. She looked inside, holding her breath.

Theoren turned when he heard the creak of wood, then scowled. He clenched the note in his hand and very quickly became infuriated. “Ana!” he barked, “I told you to stay— _hgrrk!_ ”

The girl jumped and gave a cry, throwing open the door and bringing a hand to her mouth. _“FATHER!!”_ Before she could take another step forward, a sturdy figure swept up from behind to wrench her arms back. “No!” she screamed, _“Please stop!”_

But it was too late for that. The color drained from Theoren’s face along with the blood pouring down his chest. The blade protruding from his throat retreated back through the wound and her father fell to the ground; he jerked once and then was still. In his place stood another man, casually wiping the blood from his dirk with a cloth tied to his belt. He flicked his chin toward the corpse before him. “Search ‘im for valuables,” he said in a gravelly, accented voice.

Two more figures appeared behind him in the darkness, both dressed similarly in dark leather. They crouched and began searching the body for anything looking like it was worth something.

Anarchaia frantically flailed and pulled at the furry figure holding her back, sobbing hysterically. “No, leave him alone! Get away! _Stop touching him!!_ ”

The man finished cleaning his blade and his hazel gaze shifted to her. He stepped around the people in front of him, then strode to her, pulling his facemask down to reveal the stubble on his defined jawline. “You must be the young heiress, then,” he said, running the blade gently down the side of her cheek.

She gave a quiet whine, leaning her head away and continuing to sob. “Leave me alone…”

The man looked up at the figure behind her. “Hungry, are you, Ticks?”

Anarchaia jerked and yelped in surprise and disgust when a slimy appendage swirled its way between her cheek and shoulder. The smell of blood and rotting meat hit her and she began to struggle again. “Let me go!”

The being called ‘Ticks’ gave a bestial laugh—the distinct chortle of a gnoll. He held her tighter. “So hungry…”

“You really gonna let the mangy dog have all the fun?” one of the twins on the floor scoffed before straightening. 

Their leader _tch!_ ed and looked over his shoulder at him. “Why? Was there somethin’ in particular ye wanted to do?”

“She’s pretty,” the other twin said, standing as well. “Could use her to sate a different kind of appetite.”

“Let’s cut her up and sell her bits to the tavern down the road.” In the back of the room, still concealed by shadow, sat a large figure against the wall with arms folded. “Bet the locals could use some good pies for once.”

Anarchaia whimpered, her struggling already growing weak. “Please, no. Just let me go. I’ll…I’ll do anything you ask… Please…”

“Ah, but if we do that, who knows who you’ll tell?” The man in front of her lifted her chin with the tip of his knife and scrutinized her. His eyes narrowed. “You got pretty eyes, girl. Red. Like yer momma’s blood.”

Her lips pursed and she gave another apprehensive whine, looking anywhere but at him.

“She’s got that _pallid sickness_ ,” the twin on the left said, stowing her father’s rings and pocketwatch into the satchel at his hip

“Albinism,” the one on the right corrected, pushing his long black hair behind a shoulder.

“S’what I say.”

“Shut up,” the man in front of her spat over his own shoulder. He turned back to her and gave a small smile that denoted nothing of benevolence. “Bet they’d sell for a pretty copper, hm?”

Her eyes widened and she found herself pressed against the gnoll behind her. “No…no, please! I said I’d do anything!” She couldn’t help herself staring at the tip of the blade as it inched closer. She jerked her head away and the beast holding her grabbed her by the jaw to push it back. She screamed and went limp in a feeble attempt to escape, but the gnoll simply held her up with his strength.

“Shut up and hold still.”

A dull pressure suddenly filled the right side of her face, pushing her head back. The odd sound of scraping reverberated in her ears. Then, pain like nothing she’d ever felt struck through her. Warm blood mixed with the tears streaming down her cheek. She kicked and screamed out, but her feet connected with nothing and her struggling was no match for the creature holding her still. Half the room went dark and she clenched her eyes shut and shrieked, ignoring the blood pouring into her open mouth. She screeched and cried her pleas for them to stop, to be let go.

Then, without warning, something wet and smooth was forced into her mouth and down her throat.

“I told you to shut up,” the man sneered and pushed the object further down until it disappeared.

Anarchaia choked and coughed, spraying blood on the man before her. He didn’t flinch.

“Oh, now you’ve gone and ruined ‘er, Morohest.” One of the twins shifted his weight to a hip and folded his arms. “And how we gonna sell ‘er eyes if you make ‘er eat ‘em?”

“Shut it. There’s one left.”

The gnoll released her, dropping her to her hands and knees. “I get the other one? Is for Ticks?”

Anarchaia retched in a desperate attempt to bring the organ back up, but nothing happened.

The orc in the back stepped forward, pulling a large, cleaver-like sword from his back. “Maybe when I’m done with her.”

“No,” Morohest corrected. “The other one’s mine. Take whatever else you like.” He waved a dismissive hand, then went to the safe to rummage through the coin inside.

One of the twins pulled Theoren’s body away to prop him up beside the casks while the other unsheathed his shiv. “Honestly such a waste,” the latter lamented. “Hold ‘er for us, Ticks.”

The gnoll did as he was told, a look of torturous eagerness in his wild eyes as he flipped her on to her back and held her arms in place. “You taste good, yes?” he said down to her, slaver falling from his lips.

“Please,” she rasped, “let me go. Please.” Her entire head whirled with burning agony. Her stomach ached from heaving. The taste of blood alone made her want to retch again. 

“You don’t listen very well, do you?” the orc said—almost with pity.

A strong hand grabbed her left wrist from the gnoll and pulled her arm straight out. The distinct sound of a blade hitting wood startled her enough to jerk her head to look. Her one remaining eye widened at the sight of her limb being pulled away. More blood sprayed into the ever growing pool on the floor, and more pain struck through her like white-hot lightning. Invigorated with renewed panic, she screamed and flailed her remaining appendages, kicking desperately at anything and everything within range. This energy, however, quickly diminished as the pool she was lying in grew larger. Sparkles invaded her vision and her screaming dulled to quiet wheezing.

“Just kill me,” she managed to choke.

“Working on it,” the orc grunted as another hand grabbed her ankle. “You’re making it hard with all your kicking.”

She flinched as the same sound of steel on wood rang through the silent cellar, but this time felt no pain. Her blood turned to ice within her and she could feel sweat pouring from every inch of her skin. She stared at the lantern on the ceiling. The third strike of the blade didn’t faze her. It was everything she had, every ounce of strength in her, to keep her eyes open. But even so, the darkness crept in. The cellar faded from view and, in her delirium, she thought the candle had flickered out.

“Mother…” she whispered through cracked, bloody lips.

The final things she experienced were strong fangs digging into her skull…

And a flash of brilliant light. 


End file.
